Days Like These
by dickensgal31
Summary: Dean Winchester, psychologist & criminologist, leads the FBI's Adolescent Victims Unit in solving the most baffling child-based cases. A new case raises several ghosts better left at rest. Discovering more victims sets the clock ticking. Sam Wesson, Dean's partner, has the added duty of keeping him from spiraling into a whiskey-soaked hole of despair. SPN-RBB-2014. AU. M/M, no sex.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **The only actual city names used are Alexandria, Virginia, Washington, DC and Omaha, Nebraska, Garland, Texas, St. Louis, Missouri and Cherokee County, Georgia. All other town or city names are fictitious; however, the referenced cities and towns nearby are real. Some real sounding towns and cities have been deliberately camouflaged.

All dates of religious observances including the Equinox are real as is the Calculation for Easter, known as the Paschal Computus. Any referenced date of the full moon is accurate. All Biblical references and references to religious iconography are factual.

I am not in any way associated with the US Federal Bureau of Investigation. All knowledge of procedures and methods is based on research.

This story was written for the Supernatural Reverse Big Bang 2014, in which a story is written based on the art. My artist was **Apieceofcake**, who provided the original art piece and from which the cover art on this site is taken. It is a wonderfully powerful piece and it inspired this story. If you'd like to see the original you can visit my LiveJournal page which is under dickensgal31. Thank you so much for reading! Please take a moment and let me know what you thought! Lisa

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_**Prologue**_

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_**January 2009… California**_

The rains of Central California had been pounding the area for the last four days with unrelenting glee. It had turned the usually picturesque landscape into a muddy drenched mess. There's an old joke about the four seasons of California, not that they were autumn, spring, summer or winter, but were fire, rain, drought and earthquake. Funny how an old joke can really be closer to the truth than anything else.

The sodden earth fell away revealing bones nestled in their earthly bed. The pate of a skull shone brightly in the growing light of dawn. A sliver of silver glinted from the neck.

The Bible says that the rains will wash away sin. Everyone knows that rain will bring about the fruit of a field. It allows those expansive grasses of the world's too numerous golf courses to become glowing swathes of greenery. It's the rain that fills reservoirs that provide most of the Earth's potable water supply. It was rain that cured the lepers.

There's a lot to be said about the good rain does. The same could be said, equally, of its destructive qualities. On the low end there are the traffic accidents, on the high end, floods. Forty days and forty nights, if you believe the Bible some old guy, Noah, builds an ark to save humanity and whatever animals God had created. But closer to home were the floods that caused the debacle in New Orleans and Missouri, Mumbai, China and Columbia leaving thousands without homes, wiping away entire towns and killing millions.

So, yeah, rain. It's good and it's bad.

And in this case it's the rain that exposes another body and cleanses its resting place of the sin that placed it there. One could say that.

Actually, it just reveals another grave of another victim of a faceless, still nameless killer that eludes capture. Again.

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_**Chapter One**_

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_**September 24, 2010… Alexandria, Virginia**_

Dean cracked an eye open. His flat phone skittered across the nightstand, its shrill ring drilling a hole into his sleep hazed brain. Blanket swathed arms reached for the offending instrument finally stopping it from screaming at him.

"YEAH!" He winced as his own voice reverberated in his skull. "Whoever you are you better be bleedin'!"

"Winchester! Get your ass up!" The voice groused in his ear. It took a full three seconds before Dean jack-knifed to a sitting position.

"Rufus?"

"You're on the clock. We've got a case." Dean heard his boss, Unit Chief Rufus Turner, let out a sigh, "I hate to pull you off your weekend, but you gotta get yourself to the airstrip. Wheels up in an hour."

"Yessir," Dean nodded clapping his hand to his throbbing head, "I'm good. I'll be there."

A quick shower and shave, and he was out the door. Thirty minutes later he whipped into the offices of a special branch of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. It always made him chuckle a little that the FBI had special units inside other special units.

Dean grabbed a coffee from the ever-present machine. It was already his second cup of what he liked to call the elixir of life. Looking around noted that the entire team was assembling. His eyes looked for his tall shaggy haired partner and lover. It wasn't his weekend off, so he'd been there when Rufus called.

"Hey," Sam came up behind him, "looking for me?"

Dean smirked, "I don't know, am I?"

Sam shook his head with a playful snort, "Here's the file I told you about."

"When?" Rufus looked over at the two, "when did you tell 'im?"

Sam Wesson took his seat at the long table, "When he was driving in." Dean took the seat next to him and looked over at Rufus, "Why are we getting called into this?" He looked at the file, "It's one body."

"Actually, it's not," Rufus leaned back into the plush seat and looked around at the other members of the Adolescent Victims Unit's team, Gabe Milton, Charlie Bradbury, Kevin Tran, and Garth Fitzgerald. In FBI parlance it was referred to as the AVU. Sam Wesson was the newest member but so far he'd worked out to be a near perfect partner for Winchester. He gave Kevin a nod.

Kevin nodded to Charlie who with a couple clicks on her keyboard brought up a slide with several bodies. Kevin looked over at Dean who was the most senior on the team, "In a new process initiated by the Behavioral Analysis Unit all homicides involving children are being cataloged in a specific database. Someone noticed a base pattern to these," he pointed to the screen, "and so, now it's in our laps." He nodded toward the screen, "there've been several homicides over several states, bodies in varying degrees of deterioration," he looked at his teammates, "but all seem to be in the same age range, eight to ten and all boys."

Dean let out a small groan.

"Okay, people," Rufus stood, "more on the plane. Let's get the lead out!"

The team scrambled to collect their belongings and made for the door.

In the air, Rufus took the seat across from Dean who was buried in one of the files Kevin and Charlie had handed to each agent. He cleared his throat to get the man's attention.

Dean held up a finger as he finished reading. "Yeah."

Rufus looked out the window for a moment, "I think you should know that Benny's going to be meeting us."

Dean nodded with a frown, "I figured."

"You and he are a great team," Rufus sighed, "always were."

"Mmm," Dean leafed back through the folder. "This body," he looked up at his chief, "the one in Omaha? That was the tipping point to bring us in?"

His chief nodded, "Yeah." His brow furrowed in thought, "Why?"

Dean shrugged, "Just asking." He looked out the window at the clouds for a moment, "I was just wondering why now? What isn't the BAU telling us? Why wait for the count to be twelve, four wasn't enough? Five?"

Rufus looked closely at his lead agent. He knew how hard these cases hit Dean. These cases hit all of them hard. Harder when it was children. But they seem to hit Dean even harder sometimes. And he was worried that Dean was sliding down that slippery slope again. He remembered the first time he had to pull Dean out of a bottle.

_When Bobby Singer sent his protégé who was almost a son to him his way he wasn't sure what to expect. He'd heard about the kid when he was coming up and he had problems. But he trusted Bobby. And the kid was an expert in religious doctrines and icons. Top of his class in undergrad and grad school. Good pedigree, Doctorate in Forensic Psych and Crim. And he knew Dean lost his younger brother when he was eleven. Bobby said Dean really wanted to work the kid cases, as he called them._

When Bobby called tonight he had no idea that the loss of his kid brother was still a raw spot for Dean. Or that he would react so badly when their case fell apart. But the kid was good. Really good and he didn't want to lose him. And especially not at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon.

He gave the bartender the 'hi' sign as he strode the length of the bar. Dean was there, right where Bobby said he would be. This was one of Dean's favorite watering holes. They knew him here and he felt safe.

"Dean." Rufus took the stool next to him and moved the glass out of his reach. There were four empty ones sitting in front of him. Bobby said he usually kept count.

The twenty-eight year old turned to him with eyes struggling to focus, "Sir?"

"I know losing this guy is killing you. It kills all of us." He called the bartender over. "Coffee?" The man nodded and walked toward the back.

"You're good at this, Dean," Rufus continued. "Now, I'm not going to blow sunshine up your ass everytime we hit a rough patch, but I'm also not going to let you destroy yourself. Or punish yourself. We have a team. We win and lose together."

"Sir, I can't …"

"No," Rufus stopped him. "WE need you on this team."

"You gonna be okay?"

Dean nodded, "I'll be fine. I just wanta get this sonuvabitch. I want to get them all." Rufus heard that note of desperation in Dean's voice that made him one of the best. It was also a key to what made him suffer in this job, too. He looked over Dean's head to the seats behind him and across the aisle. He caught Sam's eye.

Rufus wasn't surprised to see the minute shake of Sam's head. He'd only been partnered with Dean for two years, but the kid knew his older partner, and knew him well.

The two and half hour trip from Virginia to Omaha sped by as the team immersed themselves in the few facts of the case that they had on board. Charlie was furiously compiling as much data from the original crime scene files as she could. This was the first scene they'd be able to investigate first hand. The other files would, more or less, have to be treated as cold cases.

Disembarking from the plane, Sam fell into step beside Dean. He looked over at the tenseness around Dean's mouth, the hard glint in his eye and knew that his partner was already geared up to do battle. Sam grinned to himself thinking about how much Dean reminded him of the superheroes he worshipped as a kid. The kind that took a beating and still kept getting back up to fight. That was Dean.

"This is going to be bad," Sam said quietly as they slid into the one of the waiting SUVs.

"Captain Obvious, I presume," Dean snarked as he buckled into his seatbelt.

Sam shook his head and buckled in as well, "Ooh, snarky much? You didn't get enough coffee yet, huh?"

Dean slid him a don't-mess-with-me glance.

"Seriously, Dean," Sam leaned over toward his partner on the job and in life, "I want you to be okay. This has all the earmarks of being really nasty."

Dean reared back to look at his partner, "And when, Sam, is murder not nasty?"

"You know what I mean!" Sam allowed himself a huff of indignation.

Dean let out a small sigh as he looked past Sam and out the window. After a moment he locked his gaze on Sam's. "Yeah, I know. I'll be fine."

"Fine?"

"Dry, okay," Dean retorted hotly and tried not to be pissed, "I won't drink."

"Benny's coming, too," Sam reminded him.

Dean shrugged. As if he needed reminding that the partner that left him after six years on the job together was now going to be working a case with him again.

"Dean?"

"I know! Sam," Dean grit his teeth keeping the surge of anger at bay, "I know about Benny coming! Rufus told me. And just because my ex-partner is coming doesn't mean I'm going to drink myself into sad oblivion!"

"Mmmookay." Sam shifted to look at Dean, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Sam!" Dean mashed his hands through his hair, but took a deep breath. "I'm a big boy, Sam. And you're not my mommy and not my keeper. I won't drink too much. Now," he forced himself to relax against the window sill, "tell me what you know, so far."

Sam let out a sigh of exasperation and with a small head shake started to go through the meager information that they had on the murders so far. Unfortunately, Sam's profile was mostly non-existent. "We should have more in about an hour when Charlie finishes culling all the info she can get her hands on."

It was only fifteen minutes later when the three AVU vehicles stopped outside the massive stone façade of the City of Omaha Police Department. Their arrival was expected and, hopefully, welcomed. Most local law enforcement resented their presence since it was seen as losing control over a crime committed in the home territory. But, in reality, the AVU team was there to help.

The OPD Community Liaison Officer was usually the person who met them, but this time it was the Chief of Detectives, Logan Ginty, waiting for them. Dean eyed up the lean weathered face of the man under a nice looking Stetson. He looked more like a seasoned rancher than he did a detective, but all looks could be deceiving. He knew that better than most.

AVU Chief Turner made quick introductions as his team was lead into a conference room set aside for their use. It was a relief to have the Medical Examiner waiting for them. Charlie didn't miss a beat in getting up and running again. Gabriel, Communication Liaison was already riding point with the rest of the police department and getting geared up for any media needs. Rufus brought Dean over to meet with the ME and the detective that was leading the case, Daniel Tappscot.

"When can we see the site," Dean asked losing no time in the getting-to-know-you niceties.

Tappscot looked mildly taken aback but quickly recovered, "As soon as you're ready, sir."

"Dean," the older agent looked carefully at the blond-haired detective, "just Dean. You new? You're kind of young to be a detective."

Tappscot smirked, "Not as young as you think, damn, baby face," he snickered at himself, "thirty, if that makes you feel any better."

Dean nodded at the detective and his eyes actually had a glint of mirth in them, "Good to know." He took the paper Charlie handed him. "And, yeah," he looked up at Tappscot again, "it makes me feel better." He followed the younger detective's gaze as Benny Lafitte and his new partner, Gary Roddam, strode into the room.

"Let's get started," Rufus rapped on the table to get everyone's attention. "Charlie," he nodded to the red-head, "it's your show."

"I'm not sure if we might be wasting our time," she clicked a few keys and twelve photos lit up the screen, "or if we've got the entire picture."

The entire team leaned toward the screen as each photo took its place. The photos were all prepubescent boys. The entire team was silent as the faces of the innocent stared down at them.

"Other than that they're all white," Roddam broke the silence, "I'm not seeing a connection."

Sam watched his partner studying the photos. He wasn't as experienced as Dean and had more than a little to learn. His partner was a great teacher. He looked over and saw Benny watching Dean with the same intensity. He gave the man a small smile. This wasn't the first time they'd worked together, but it was the first time since he and Dean embarked on a personal relationship.

"Charlie," Dean asked without peeling his eyes from the screen, "the three black and white photos, you have a description? Their eyes blue?"

Dean didn't see the Omaha Chief lean into his chief. "Your guy's a bit intense there isn't he?"

Chief Turner nodded as he kept his eyes on his Senior Agent, "He's the best we got. No one's beat his closure rate."

"Bit driven, huh?" The Omaha Chief shifted and locked his eyes on Winchester as well, "What's he seeing?"

Turner shrugged, "Damned if I know. But whatever it is you can bet there's a reason." He looked over at his colleague, "Dean doesn't do anything frivolous on cases." His eyes rested on Dean again, "He's all business."

Sam looked closer at the photos Dean was questioning and saw that the eyes were light colored.

"Yeah," Charlie confirmed.

Dean's eyes narrowed and Sam tried to see what he was seeing.

"All the eyes are light," Dean said thoughtfully, "even the dark headed ones." He turned back to Charlie, "Dates?" With a few more clicks of her keyboard she uploaded the dates each boy was found.

"I'm loading the crime scene photos, now," Kevin added, "let me know when you're ready for them."

Dean shook his head, "No, Charlie." He looked back at the woman, for the first time taking his eyes from the photos, "I need the TOD."

"I've got those," Kevin piped up from behind him. "Give me a sec." After a couple clicks the Estimated Time of Death was loaded under each photo.

Dean's eyes darted among the dates as did Sam's, Benny's, and the rest of the team's.

"This is interesting," Kevin loaded another batch of photos to a second screen to the right of the main one. "This was found with seven of the bodies."

A picture of a small silver rectangle was emblazoned on the screen to the left. It had a cross on it.

Dean rose from his chair and going to the screen peered closely at the photo. Sam joined him on his right and Benny on his left.

"What're ya seein', cher?"

"Not sure," Dean answered as he studied. He turned back to Kevin, "Is this the only photo?" Kevin and Charlie nodded in tandem. "Wait," Charlie interrupted their nod, "there are seven of them, one from each of the victims." She turned to her partner, "Put'em up."

Seven photos of the silver tab came up side-by-side. They were carbon copies of each other.

Dean let out a huff, "No one photo'd the back."

"What do you think is there," Sam asked. "How do you know it's not just blank?"

"I don't," Dean answered as he lowered himself into the chair behind him. His eyes never left the screens.

Garth who'd been quiet finally spoke up, "Hey, Char, which one of the boys had the silver tab?"

Dean shot his young teammate a smile as Charlie did as Garth asked. The photos were rearranged to show the ones with and without the silver tab. The entire team studied the pictures in silence. Charlie and Kevin busily keyed in more and more information, delving into more and more crime scene information.

After a few moments, Kevin broke the studied silence, "Take a look at this, guys." Four more photos went up on the screen. Four of the intact bodies were shown wearing some kind of white garment, remnants of a garment clung to the remains of three others.

"And this is very strange," Charlie added as she keyed up five more pictures. "What do you think it means?"

Dean looked at the display with increasing interest. His eyes darted amongst the varied photos. Sam and Benny were right by his side as they studied the pictorial essay before them.

"What kind of bug is that?" He moved closer to the picture, "It looks like a bee."

"It is," Dean sighed. "I wonder if it's what I think it is, though," his voice trailed off as he thought and studied.

"This body," Rufus addressed Ginty, "when can we see it?"

Chief Ginty stood from his seat, "We can take you out to the scene now." The coroner, Eric Hopstead, stood as well, "The boy is on the table downstairs."

Dean looked at the fifty something doctor, "You have a Time of Death yet, Doc?"

"When I came up here, it wasn't conclusive. The labs I ordered should be complete by now." He ticked his head, "Follow me?"

"Sure thing," Dean turned to follow him and Sam fell into step beside him. "What're you thinking," Sam whispered as they followed the ME.

"I'm thinking what's with the bee. I'm thinking why the hell someone didn't take a picture of the back of that silver thing," Dean retorted as he kept up with the doctor. "And I'm thinking is it real silver? How real point nine nine nine real or jewelry real?"

Sam furrowed his brow as they got into the elevator that led to the morgue, "Why does that matter."

Dean frowned, "It matters."

_Dean walked into the Forensic Anthropologists office without his usual swagger. They were after a killer that buried his vics alive and listened and waited while they died. He would do anything to get this guy, but he felt like a bit of a rube coming into the Smithsonian with a leaf._

"Hey," he stopped one of the techs, "I'm here to see Mara Winbeck."

The guy grinned, "Oh, she's in a mood today." He pointed to the upper level glass offices, "Up there, top of the stairs. Knock first, that's her lab."

Getting to the door, he knocked gently. She was bent over a lighted table and he didn't want to startle her.

"Come." She didn't look up.

He went to the end of the long table and leaned over it without touching anything, "I'm Dean Winchester. I called you about an hour ago."

"Yes," she looked up. Her eyes were deep brown behind rectangle glasses, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, "let me see it."

He handed over the small plastic evidence bag, "I'm sure it's not important, but it looked different from the other stuff at the scene. It was on the kid's jacket."

She frowned slightly as she looked at it and then held it to the light, "I'll have to do some tests." Where's the body? Whose jurisdiction?" She looked at him sharply, "And don't ever think a piece of something that might be evidence is unimportant. It's all important."

And that little leaf led them to the home base of the unsub. That little leaf helped solve their case. So, everything is important.

Sam followed Dean as he trailed the doc through the stainless doors that were the entry to morgues the world over. He listened to the story of the leaf that helped the AVU solve one of their cases. "So, you see, Sam, that's when I learned that every little thing can be important."

"I can see that."

This coroner's operating theater was the same as so many others. In a way the familiarity was comforting.

Except for the small slight body covered by the operating room green sheet preserving what's left of the boy's modesty. Sam saw his partner tense as he approached the boy. He'd learned the hard way not to call it 'the body' and he was sure the ME was about to learn that same lesson.

"This is Jacob Milner, age ten. His parents are on their way." Dr. Hopstead gently pulled back the sheet but only to the boy's waist. "There's been very little deterioration," he looked up at the two agents, "apparently he was found quickly, lucky for him and for us."

"Cause, Doc," Dean's eyes roved over the almost unmarred skin of the boy. "There doesn't seem to be any outward signs of the COD."

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**Copyright Disclaimers:** That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character and I cite Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. The ownership and copyrights of Blind Pig, Woodford Reserve, Crown Royal, DoubleTree Hotels, Holiday Inn hotels, Braun and Chevrolet are duly acknowledged in the Product Acknowledgement section of this work. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal31.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Since FanFiction doesn't allow an acknowledgement page, I'm going to include my thanks to various people in notes that top the chapters. So, next up is **Kyrie** who alpha'd on this story even from her sick bed. She gave valuable feedback and encouragement through every chapter of this story. Fantastic and astute sounding board, cheerleader, proofer, reviewer, she did it all. My heartfelt and absolute thanks.

I hope you enjoy this next part. Again, your comments are always welcomed! Thanks for reading, Lisa

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_**Chapter Two**_

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_**September 24, 2010… Downtown Omaha, DoubleTree Hotel**_

Sam waited for a while before going back to the room he was sharing with Dean. After viewing the remains of ten-year-old Jacob Milner, he knew that it would hit Dean pretty hard. His partner had waved off dinner with the team which surprised no one. Maybe it surprised the members of the OPD, but not the AVU team. They were used to Dean going into recluse mode when he was getting into a case. Hell, he was there through most of his cases.

Sam was trying to break him of that working ethic. It wasn't healthy and usually for Dean that meant refuge in a whiskey bottle. As he made his way to their hotel, he had a sneaking suspicion that he might find Dean if not at the bottle, then definitely nursing a glass of the fiery liquid.

They'd both been surprised by the ME's work up on Jacob Milner. His body hadn't shown a hint of abuse. There wasn't a single bruise or ligature mark. His mouth was empty and intact. The boy wasn't raped or seemingly abused in any sexual way at all. Fact was, if you didn't know better and if the ME's customary 'Y' incision wasn't there emblazoned against pale little boy skin you would have thought Jacob was sleeping.

It was a bit surprising to find the presence of feathers in the boy's airways. And after seeing no marks on the boy, it left only one method of murder and that puzzled them all. The tox screen indicated a high dose of barbiturates, which meant that Jacob was more than likely unconscious before his death.

Sam eased into their room. His eyes immediately landed on the small table by the window. Standing with his back against the door he studied his partner and lover for a moment. His eyes glanced at the photos of the boys taped to the window. Off to the side was the picture of Jacob Milner and the crime scene photos they'd gotten this afternoon. His eyes quickly returned to the other twelve pictures all labeled, now, with the name of the victim.

"How long you gonna stand there, Sam?" Dean hadn't even turned around, but it wasn't his keen investigative know-how that told him Sam had come into the room. It was simple logic. The door opened. And Sam was the only one with a keycard that wouldn't feel the need to announce himself.

Sam let out a deep breath. There was no bottle of anything on the table that was littered with printouts, and there was no glass in Dean's hand. This was a relief.

"You need to let this go, just for now," Sam said as he walked toward Dean who'd yet to turn around. "What do you hope to see?"

Dean shrugged. "Not sure. Something. Anything." He finally turned to look at Sam, "How's the team?"

Sam slunk down into the easy chair off to the side of the table, "Pre-occupied. We all are. This case. There's just something off," he looked up at the pictures, "everyone feels it, ya know?"

"Yeah." Dean took the chair at the table.

"So," Sam leaned forward and took off his jacket, "what else did you find, Obi-wan?" Sam looked up at one of the pics on the wall. The flipside of the silver tag with the cross had a pair of wings etched into the back. As soon as the actual item was showed to Dean, he immediately flipped it over and grinned. Not because there was something there to grin about, but it was the very fact that no one else seemed to have bothered to look, or at any rate, document.

Dean snorted. But grabbed a thin stack of photos, "You know, it's eerie the way Jacob looked." Dean looked up at the pictures again and then down at the ones in his hand, "Tell me what you see," he laid them out like he was dealing cards.

"These," Sam looked up from the photos, "are the ones from the other crime scenes where the body's had the least deterioration."

Dean nodded.

Sam leaned toward the pictures, "They all look like they're sleeping."

Dean grinned, "Yep. All in a white sheathe, like a tunic, which the killer had to put on them. And look at the bodies, Sam. Untouched, clean. And cyanide isn't that hard to get."

Sam nodded, "Yeah," his voice trailed off as he looked at the crime scene photos and the faces of the boys looking down at them from their flat plane on the window.

"Oh, and I asked Doc to run a test on the shift," Dean rifled through a stack of papers for the one he wanted, "the fibers contained salt."

Sam's brows rose in surprise, "It was soaked in salted water?"

"Had to be. Doc said it was throughout the garment."

"Any of the other ME's check the other shifts?"

Dean shook his head, "Not according to what we've got, but it's definitely something to find out." He stood and started to take the document photos off the wall, "This kid, Jacob? Never felt a thing. The barbiturates would have knocked him out. The cyanide would have killed him almost immediately. He's got, let's say, for now a similar silver tag on him. And the white shift." He pulled down two smaller pics and studied them.

"You found the bee at the site," Sam said as Dean threw the two pictures on the table. "And Doc had that pressed rose catalogued with the items from the body." He looked up at his partner, "I think I get the rose. The killer sent the kid off with a flower. It's a nice touch."

Dean shook his head, "No. Not a nice touch. Something else."

"What?"

Dean looked up at his partner, "I have an idea, but I want to see what we find on the other victims. I want to see these other sites."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "we're wheels up at 06:00. Rufus told me to tell you." He stood and walked around to Dean. Leaning over he dropped a kiss to the top of Dean's head, "Let's get some sleep, hmm?"

Dean leaned back against Sam and let out a long breath. "Yeah," he rubbed the bridge of his nose and pinched his eyes, "I'm tired."

"C'mon," Sam ticked his head toward the bed, "we need sleep. Tomorrow's going to be tough and you, we, need to be clear-headed."

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At 06:10 the next morning the AVU team was already in flight. Charlie handed Dean a tablet with her email already on the screen. "It's the report from the entomologist."

_Entomological Report on Specimen tagged : Case #12-74259, Milner, J.__  
><em>_Prepared for: Omaha Medical Examiner; Eric Hopstead, MD and__  
><em>_Dean Winchester, Supervisory Agent, FBI, Adolescent Victims Unit__  
><em>_Investigator: Ky Pattelle, PhD – Entomology and BioChemistry_

_RESULTS__  
><em>_Kingdom: Animalia, Phylum: Arthropoda, Class: Insecta, Order: Hymenoptera, Family: Apidae, Genus: Apis, Species: A. mellifera, Binomial name: Apis mellifera_

_The specimen is commonly referred to as a Honey Bee and can be found in any garden and particularly commercial honey producing concerns or commercial flora and fruit farms and orchards. _

Dean shook his head and let out a soft snort. "All this to tell us what we already knew? It's a frikkin' honeybee just like the ones buzzing around any flower bed!" He let out an annoyed grunt, "Isn't that just ducky!"

Benny leaned over toward his old partner, "Yes, but now we know for sure, right? And that's good, cher. It's one more thing we know that we didn't before."

"Yeah," Dean said calming down, "point taken." He looked at his old partner for a full ten seconds. "How are you?" He looked over at Gary, "How's it with him?" Dean nodded to Benny's new partner.

"I'm good, cher," Benny said quietly. "Gary's a good guy. I like being closer to the family now that mom's not doing too well." He locked his eyes with Dean's, "She'd love to see you. Asks after you all the time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, cher," Benny smiled, "you should come down. See her. Pops would like to see you, too." He looked over at Sam, "Bring him," Benny nodded to where Sam was seated, "I think he and Robbie would get along real well."

"That your new guy?" Dean kept his voice steady and calm. He and Benny had known each other a long time. There really wasn't a reason they couldn't remain friends. They should remain friends.

"He is."

"I'm glad you found someone," Dean said quietly.

"I'm glad you did, too." Benny replied thoughtfully. "You know, cher, we are still friends. How could we not be?"

Dean nodded, "I know."

"Hey, guys," Sam said from behind Dean as he leaned over the back of the seat, "is there a détente?"

Benny broke out into a soft chuckle, "I guess there is." He looked around the team. "Maybe it's situations like this that remind us of what's really important."

Charlie's tablet pinged with an incoming email. As Dean turned to hand it off, he saw it was from the Entomology Lab. "Charlie, the lab's sending another email. I'm going to open it."

"Yeah, go 'head, it's for you," she answered without opening her eyes. She was catching a bit of down time before being glued to her computers for the rest of the day.

Swiping open the email tab Dean opened the second message from Dr. Pattelle.

_Dr. Hopstead, Agent Winchester:__  
><em>_Not sure if it's important, but the specimen you sent may be a queen. There's a beekeepers__  
><em>_mark below the wings, quite faded, but there if you're looking.__  
><em>_Cheers, Ky_

Sam nodded, "I'm glad to finally meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you. Plus, no one can have too many friends, right?" Dean looked up at his partner with surprise. _Maybe he didn't realize how much he'd brought up Benny. But the kid was aces to be so accepting._

Sam stepped over Dean and took the seat next to him, "We should be in Missouri in about fifteen minutes." He glanced at the paper Dean held and his partner passed it over. Sam's eyes skimmed the report. "A honey bee? A queen? Why the hell would there be a bee with the body? In the winter? In Nebraska?"

"T'is a mystery," Dean said with a hint of levity.

* * *

><p><strong>Copyright Disclaimers:<strong> That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character and I cite Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. The ownership and copyrights of Blind Pig, Woodford Reserve, Crown Royal, DoubleTree Hotels, Holiday Inn hotels, Braun and Chevrolet are duly acknowledged in the Product Acknowledgement section of this work. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal31.


	3. Chapter 3

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**Chapter Three**

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The boy looked at the twisted purple sucker he'd been given with obvious delight. Happily unwrapping it, he stuck it without hesitation into his mouth. The sweet grape flavor made his mouth water even more as his tongue gently rolled the long slim lollipop.

"Thanks!" He grinned up at his benefactor and slurped in more of the sugary goodness flooding down his throat. "Grape's the best! There's not a lot of 'em!" He sucked with the gusto of a child truly enjoying candy the way only a child can.

"Well, I gotta get goin'!" He jumped up and swayed just a bit. But helpful hands reached out to steady him. He let the hands help him sit back down on the cushiony folding chair. Leaning back he savored the sweet confection.

His eyes started to droop as his body molded to the chair. The lollipop fell from his slack mouth. 

**_September 26, 2010… Texas, Garland Holiday Inn_**

Dean rolled his neck on stiff shoulders as he took another sip of the fiery liquid that soothed his tattered nerves. The faces of the twelve boys flashed in his mind's eye on an endless loop. The last resting places of six of them followed right behind. He downed the rest of the glass as he settled back into the plush easy chair and tried to shut off the images for the night.

The 'gifts' that had been left with each body irked him. They made little sense on the surface. And he knew there was a reason for them. No killer left 'gifts' because they had miscued Christmas. They were telling him something. But he wasn't getting it. At least, not yet.

And something in his gut told him this wasn't all. There were others. There would be more. More boys dead and as yet there were no other bodies. No other gifts. But his gut said there were more and he'd learned to trust his gut as if it was standing in front of him waving a flag.

He heard the hotel room door open and knew it was Sam without opening his eyes. Sam had this way of coming into a room when he wasn't sure what he was going to find Dean doing. Dean could always tell. The air in the room took on a completely different feel.

"Hey, Sam." Eyes still closed he knew Sam was shedding his double layer of outdoor clothing. For the California native any temperature lower than seventy degrees was cold and he hated it. And, for September, it was unseasonably cool and the rain had been on and off most of the day.

Dean finally opened his eyes as he felt Sam come toward him and stop at the desk. He looked up at his shaggy haired partner as his eyes locked on the bourbon bottle and the glass.

Sam looked over at Dean with a small smile, "Just one?"

"Just one." Dean leaned back in the chair again, "I'll get drunk when we get this bastard."

"Uh, how about you don't get drunk at all," Sam leaned his hands on the arms of the easy chair and looked his partner squarely in the eye, "I'd like to have you around for," he frowned, "I don't know, thirty, forty, maybe fifty years."

"Fifty?"

"Yeah."

"Shit, Sam," Dean grinned, "I'm not sure I got fifty!"

"You do, but not if you crawl back into the bottle," Sam pushed off the chair. "Come to bed. Stop thinking."

Dean sucked in a deep breath, "I can't, Sam."

"You can," Sam tugged his hand, "you'll come at it fresh tomorrow. I know you've already got something brewing." Sam tugged Dean out of the chair and gave him a gentle shove onto the bed. "Sleep now. Think more tomorrow." 

**_September 28, 2010… FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC_**

For the past four days the team had been run ragged visiting the burial locations of the victims that had been identified. They'd roused people to work on Sunday, open labs and process tests. So far, everything they'd learned had all the earmarks of the work of a serial killer. What kind was still to be determined. There were enough common elements to link the murders of the boys, but nothing concrete.

Back on their home turf the AVU's access to more information was speedier and timelier than when they were on the road. Gabriel so far had done a bang up job on keeping the local police departments from leaking any news to the media. He'd had similar success with the parents of the boys since all they really wanted to know was what had happened to their sons.

Dean looked up as Gabe came into the large conference room and took a seat. He and Gabe had been on the team since the beginning. They along with Charlie were the three original members. They'd been friends since going through the academy.

Charlie and Kevin were the best Tech Analysts around. Gabe was no slouch in the investigations area, but early in his career he'd shown a real knack for soothing the ruffled feathers of the media, keeping information under wraps until it needed to be let out and he was an angel with bereaved family members. And his openly friendly face and naturally sunny attitude played no small part in his success.

Gabe looked from Dean to the wall of projected photos. "What are you thinking?" He took a deep sip from the ever present cola that went with him everywhere.

Dean slumped against the back of the chair, "I'm thinking that this isn't all there is." He took a sip from his coffee, "I know there's more. I'm just not sure where to look. Yet."

"Hey," Sam strode in followed by Charlie and Kevin. With the addition of Garth and Rufus, their team was complete. Sam slid into the chair next to Dean. "Benny'll be here with Gary in a few, he's checking in with his office."

Dean nodded absently as he looked again at the crime scene photos. This morning they'd gotten all the TODs from the various ME's and Charlie had already uploaded them to the corresponding photo. Looking at the innocent faces looking out at him Dean had to shake off the memory of another such face. He'd had to shake it off more than once in the past few days, but it was getting harder.

"Dean?" Rufus called over to him from the opposite end of the table.

"Yeah, Chief," Dean answered absently. He was concentrating on the items they'd found on the newer crime scenes and waiting for the older ones to be sifted. If he had his way, he would've been at all the found sites. But, as Sam said, even for him it was impossible to be in two places at one time. He pulled out the pictures of the 'gifts' left with each victims.

_Pressed red rose, single layer in waxed paper  
>Bee, confirmed as a Honey Bee, possibly queen, in cardboard matchbox, no distinguishing marks<br>Salt soaked tunic on the victim  
>Silver medallion with embossed cross, etched wings on the back over the letters QVD<em>

Dean looked at the array of items before him. His hands ghosted over them as he studied each one.

Rufus watched his lead investigator as he slowly looked from item to item. He knew the look of recognition that he saw on Dean's face. Dean looked over at him and then back at the photos of the items. Sam had been watching Dean as well, as had Gabe who finally broke the charged silence that came over the room.

"Dean, dude!" Gabe tapped his cola can lightly on the table, "You look like someone just walked on your grave."

Chief Turner looked at Gabe and had to give the guy credit for always finding a way to lighten things up. But his lead investigator did, indeed, look like he was a bit unnerved. "Talk to me, Dean," Rufus' command was gentle but there nonetheless.

"What do you see," he looked from Rufus to Sam to Benny, who'd just come through the door. "Do you see anything these _things_ have in common?"

Sam heard the spark of revelation and knowing in Dean's voice. "I don't, but you do. So, spill."

Dean turned to Charlie as he stood and handed her the five photos he was holding, "Put these up, wouldjya?" By the time he'd walked to the wall in front of the table Charlie had them up. Dean pointed to each one in succession. "A rose; a honey bee; salt soaked tunic; a silver medallion."

"The medallion is obviously religious," Sam said as he retook his seat taking a noisy sip of his fresh coffee.

"But the bee," Gabe's voice rose with his disbelief.

Dean nodded as his lips quirked at the corner in the start of a smile, "Good thing my thing is religious iconography, then, huh?" His brows bounced as Charlie snorted, "Just tell us what you're thinking!"

"Okay," Dean turned back to the photos. "These odd little gifts actually do have a connection." He looked at his colleagues, "The rose, five petals, usually attributed to Mary, the Virgin Mary, honey, the same. White tunic, let's go with white is the standard for purity, back to the flower," he pointed to it, "white, purity, also a biblical symbol for Mary's tears." He looked back at his rapt audience, "Salt in the tunic, long held as a superstitious safeguard against demons, not true, but people believe it, and the medallion." Dean let out a deep breath, "It's pure silver which is supposed to repel demons. Demons can't touch silver, but here's where it gets really interesting."

"Okay, it's an anti-demon, cross with wings," Gabe piped up, "it's obvious that the killer has some religious bent. And what? He's sending the kid to God?"

"No," Dean shook his head, "to Michael."

"What the hell, cher!" Benny leaned forward on the table, "you gotta explain that one!"

"Mmm," Dean nodded, "okay, yes, the cross is obviously Christian." He pointed to the photo of the backside of the medallion showing the wings, "The wings is where it gets interesting, and more so, here," he pointed to under the wings, the etched letters Q-U-D, "Quis ut Deus. It means, 'Who is like God'."

Brows rose around the table.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

Dean pounded the pavement of downtown Alexandria headed for his favorite watering hole, Harvelle's. It was small, out of the way, and everyone knew who you were and left you alone anyway. Plus, Ellen was a great bartender and owner. Listened when asked and knew when to just pour. But she never let him get into trouble.

Tonight he wanted to be left alone. Tonight he just wanted a drink with no one bitching at him. Tonight he just wanted to forget.

Swinging through the door he was met with the comforting sounds that every neighborhood bar could provide, the soft thud of heavy beer mugs hitting the counter, the softly sharp clink of ice cubes cooling the fiery liquid of alcohol in wide mouth tumblers. Music playing at just the right level to be the sonic noise needed to entertain or to soothe depending on your drinking habits. Harvelle's had the one other thing too many local bars lacked nowadays. A pool table.

Dean stood in the doorway for a fast few seconds before he made a beeline for the massive mahogany topped bar worn smooth by years of care and patronage.

"Hey, Sugar!"

He smiled up at the older woman who'd become a friend and confidant when he was still in the academy. He slid onto the same stool he'd sat on for almost eight years. He was one of the few agents who'd been assigned to headquarters right out of training. But then he'd been recommended by one of his undergrad profs based on a paper he'd done at the tender age of twenty-two on religion and the serial killer. After earning his doctorate he was tapped for Quantico.

"Hey, Ellen," Dean settled on the leather covered stool and dropped his leather jacket over the back. "Woodford, neat. How you been?"

She grabbed the slim wide bottle from the top shelf and poured two fingers for Dean, "It's been a long time, Sugar. I'm good," she handed him the heavy tumbler, "you're looking a little ragged." Ellen watched as Dean downed the glass in one go. She frowned slightly as he gently tapped for a refill. Usually when Dean asked for the bourbon he was there just to relax. That single swallow of the first drink was not the action of a man wanting to relax.

Dean shrugged as he rolled the second glass on the bar for a few seconds. He looked up at Ellen, "How's Jo?"

The woman's face broke out into a grin, "She's good. You know she graduates this year from dental school."

"I remember," Dean downed the last of his second glass, "she still going to pursue periodontics?" He held his glass up for a third refill.

"She is. She's excited." Ellen pursed her lips as she looked from Dean to the empty glass. "You eat tonight?" Dean's brows rose as he saw the don't-lie-to-me look on Ellen's face.

"I ate."

"What did you eat? Power bar? Candy bar? What?"

"Przles," Dean mumbled.

Ellen cocked her head toward him, "You ate what? Don't mumble, Dean Winchester, won't do you any good. And if you're mumbling that tells me you didn't eat anything worth mentioning." She dropped her barcloth on the table. "I'm ordering you a burger from Joe's." Slipping out her cell phone she dialed the restaurant across the street, but when she ordered the 'Dean Burger', he knew she was probably talking to Old Joe himself.

"Now, can I have another drink?" Dean looked at her pleadingly as she closed her phone.

"You can have beer," Ellen cracked open a bottle of _Blind Pig_ and set it on a napkin in front of Dean, "there ya go."

Dean took a long pull on the brew and let it roll around his mouth for a moment before swallowing. It was one of his favorites, nice hopsy citrusy taste with just enough bitterness in the finish to call it beer. Not like some of those fruity concoctions being called beer today. God, he hated those.

Ellen leaned over toward him, with her ever-present cup of tea, "So," she looked up at him, "you gonna tell me what's got your knickers in a twist? Personal?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he took another pull on the beer.

"So, a case then." Ellen kept her eyes on him as she sipped her tea.

"You know," Dean let out a dry chuckle, "watching you sip tea in this fine bar is sacrilegious, you know that, right?"

Ellen chuckled, "It's my bar."

"Well, there is that," Dean grinned as he took another swig from the Blind Pig, "maybe I need to do that. Open a bar."

Ellen shook her head, "You'd drink the profits. So, not a great idea. Plus," she looked at him with kind eyes, "we need you putting all those sick bastards in jail and keeping the world safe." She chuckled, "Maybe I need to get you a cape."

The door opened letting in a waft of rain fresh air followed by the delicious aroma of grilled beef. Dean smiled as Joe, the bearer of the best burgers in town took the seat alongside of him. The dark-headed slightly rotund man with a bit more than stubble and less than a beard clapped Dean on the shoulder, "So, my friend, it's been a long time since you come to see me!" His Greek accent was still strong even after decades in the US.

He chatted with Joe and Ellen, ate his burger and drank two more beers. It felt good to get away from the case for a short time. He could feel it pushing at the back of his brain. It kept intruding into his thoughts but he pushed it back for the hour he spent just relaxing at the bar. A fourth beer later he left the bar and walked through the gently crisp autumn night to his apartment. The day's rain had finally stopped leaving behind and unseasonably cool night filled with the earthy scents of wet earth and leaves.

He'd never touched the pool table, but talked baseball and the merit of the best burgers with Joe and Ellen, argued the best beers to keep on draft and other unimportant innocuous things. Serial killers and dead children never came up. But they were never far from his thoughts.

The early nip in the air was bracing and tempered the warmth of the alcohol surging through his veins. He wanted to be in the warm arms of Sam. Sam wouldn't like that he'd been drinking. He worried. There wasn't anything to worry about. Not really. It was a way to take the edge off. To relax. But Sam worried anyway. And that pissed him off. He didn't want to be pissed at Sam. Not tonight. Tonight he was pissed at nameless killers of little boys and he wanted to hang on to that.

Killers who lured boys with sweets and toys. And this bitch killed on Sundays. Calls herself a Christian probably convinces herself she's doing God's work or some such bullshit. His feet started moving more quickly keeping time with his swelling anger. Probably takes advantage of Sunday school kids. Thinks she's providing soldiers for Michael's army? So she can beat the devil, never thinking she's the devil herself! _Fucking bitch, I'd like to choke her myself!_

_The stunned faces of his colleagues didn't really surprise him. It was the same reaction every time there was a series of murders steeped in some religious reasoning. Religion was too important to too many people and there was just something about using religion that made the crime seem that much worse._

"Okay," Dean continued. "This Quis ut Deus, it's found on the shield of the Archangel Michael." Charlie, that link I gave you."

"One sec," the read head clicked away on her keyboard. A picture of Micahel holding the shield with the words on it.

"This is a classic depiction of the Angel Michael slaying the devil. Who is alternately," Charlie put up another photo, "a man and a dragon."

"So," Garth piped up from the chair next to where Dean is standing, "You're saying that our killer is making an army for Michael?"

"Exactly!" Dean looked at Garth with appreciation. "Chief," he looked over at Rufus, "can you call the ME in Omaha? I'm betting if he tests the skin, under the nails since he probably washed the body, he'll find that the boy was given a milk bath."

Rufus gave him a nod but Kevin interrupted, "I can email him now. That way you can keep going."

"Cool," Dean nodded, "thanks. Okay," he looked at his colleagues, and then back to the pictures of the boys, "the TOD's all land on a Sunday. This is a Christian woman, well educated, attractive, nice appearance, age between maybe as young as thirty but probably closer to mid-fifties could be as old as sixty but that would be pushing it unless she has an accomplice. She needs to be strong enough to lift a body, dead weight, average height and weight of boys this age range."

"How strong," Gabe asked as he absently poured coffee.

It was Benny's partner, Gary, who answered, "An eight year old boy, an average height 50 inches, weight about 56 pounds. At nine, 50 to 55 inches in height; weight, between 56 and 70 pounds, this is the wildcard category. Ten year olds, on average, are 55 inches tall and weigh 70 to 75 pounds."

Dean nodded his thanks to the man. He'd learned from his file that the man had trained as a pediatric physical and occupational therapist. He was a valuable member to have on the team.

"One more thing," the ordinarily quiet Gary added, "if the unsub's female and I agree with you, Dean, and if she was a mother or used to being around children she'd know how to pick them up. How to shift the weight."

"Good point," Benny clapped his partner on the shoulder and then turned to his ex-partner, "I'd say she's probably closer to mid-fifties."

Dean nodded, "Yeah. And she's Catholic, but that doesn't mean she's practicing. She's using Christian themes, icons, superstitions to mark the boys. This is her version of fighting the devil," his voice trailed off as he looked at the pictures of the victims again.

"What's not sitting right," Sam asked as he observed his partner. He knew him well and his tone and body posture said something was off.

"Not sure," Dean's voice trailed off again as he thought. "There's something we're, I'm, missing."

"You said that you think there are more boys," Sam reminded.

"Yeaaah," Dean nodded, "not sure how to find them, though."

"Dean," Gabe interrupted his musings, "why a woman?"

Dean's brows rose, "Oh," he frowned as he shook his head, "first, poison is traditionally a woman's weapon of choice. Neat, clean, easy to use. Second, boys are wary of men with candy. Hopstead in Omaha and Mercer in Garland and Pierrelli in St. Louis said they found sticky residue of sugar in the boy's mouths. Kids are more likely to take candy from a woman. The older woman, the more attractive the easier it is for them to get the kids to take it.

Water splashed against his legs as a car drove too close to the curb throwing up the murky water from the puddles that always formed on this side of the street. It sent a small shiver through Dean as the water seeped through his trousers. He was still several blocks away from his apartment. The moon was low in the autumn sky and overall it was a cooler night than usual for September.

He stopped for a moment and looked up at the moon. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the gleaming orb that could be enjoyed by lovers but be malicious too. He shook off the feelings that crept up on him on moon-bright nights. And while this wasn't a true moon-bright night it was too close for comfort.

"Hey, Buddy!"

Dean heard a male voice call out and looked across the street as a younger kid ran toward an older one. As the younger one, maybe, eight, wrapped his arms around the older, Dean knew they were probably brothers. But just hearing, 'Hey, Buddy,' sent shivers down his spine. He shook it off as he always did, and quickened his pace toward home.

_"Hey, Dean?"_

"Yeah, Sammy?

"It looks like the moon is following us," he pointed to the night sky.

Dean looked up and then down at his younger brother. He couldn't keep the grin off his face, "Yeah, Sammy, it does."

By the time Dean made it to their apartment he was practically running. He leaned into the elevator corner and caught his breath as it rose to the fifth floor of the turn of the century building. There were only a few apartments on each floor, they were nicely laid out and everyone had a balcony. It was in an older section of town but the buildings had so much more character. Swinging open the door he made a beeline for the small bar off the living room and had poured two-fingers of bourbon by the time Sam stood up from the sofa.

Sam had known that when they left the office earlier that Dean would need time alone. Dean wasn't hard to read if you knew how to look. And tonight after presenting the profile on the killer of the boys, Garth had dubbed her the Virgin Mary killer, was one of those nights. Sam knew he'd probably go to whatever personal watering hole he went to on nights like these. And he knew he could track Dean down if he wanted to, but giving him space when he needed was part of being a good partner, professionally and personally.

But now, as he watched the muscles in his partner's back bunching with tension, it told him there was more. He smelled the beer when he came in, and he hoped that beer was all Dean had been drinking. When he hit the hard stuff like he was now, it was never a good sign. Dean tried to drown is problems in booze instead of, as he put it, giving in to chick-flick moments and talking.

"What if I'm wrong, Sam," Dean finally grunted out without turning to look at him.

"Wrong about what?"

"The killer." Dean finally turned around, "What if I'm wrong. What if it's not 'Pretty Woman' or 'Gramma' and it's the 'Buddy'?" He took another sip from the tumbler and looked over the rim at Sam as if daring him to say something about the drink in his hand.

Sam nodded, "Okay, so, let's look at both profiles." He grabbed a pad, "So, young guy, what are you thinking," he looked up at Dean, "like twenty to mid-twenty? Fairly well educated? Christian, or knowledgeable about Christianity…"

"Definitely Christian," Dean interrupted, "probably a preacher's kid or parents deeply religious, probably attended a faith-based school…"

"Okay," Sam scribbled quickly, "probably good in school, over achiever?"

Dean frowned, "No, maybe. But he's good at science. Not sociable but knows how to be…"

Sam jotted down more notes as they continued through the 'Buddy' profile. When they finished, Sam tore off the page and put it with his keys for tomorrow. Dean had put his glass down and didn't pour another which was a relief.

"What happened tonight," Sam stood at his side by the window. It was a little too cool and wet to be on the balcony, but he cracked the door to let air into the too warm apartment. "Usually you come back relaxed. Sometimes drunk, but tonight you looked panicked."

Dean shrugged slightly but Sam heard his breath hitch.

"You weren't panicked about getting the profile wrong. I don't think you did, so," he gently turned his partner to look at him, "what is it?"

"Sammy."

_Fuck!_ Sam sucked in a deep breath as silently as he could. _Nothing set Dean off like memories of his younger brother's abduction. Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

"Something triggered a memory," Dean's voice was quiet, "and it—it made me think, reminded me that we need to look at every angle on this case."

"As we do on all of them," Sam voice was deliberately light, "we'll get whoever it is. You're the best there is, Dean. Don't doubt yourself. Not on this. Please."

"What if we don't? What if she or he," Dean stopped, "oh, fuck, Sam! This bitch, this bastard is going to kill again and I don't know where to look!"

"We'll figure it out!"

"When?"

**:::: :::::: ::::**

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Comments are a writers currency! Please, let me know what you thought!

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	4. Chapter 4

**:::: :::::: ::::**

**Chapter Four**

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**_September 29, 2010… Home of Dean Winchester & Sam Wesson, Alexandria, Virginia_**

The need to wake started to lift Sam to consciousness. He felt the pressure of needing to relieve himself and finally gave into the call of nature. Rolling up and swinging his legs off the bed he ambled to the bathroom without turning on the lights. After taking care of himself he shuffled back to bed and for the first time noticed that Dean was no longer there.

He was awake instantly. He felt the sheets on Dean's side. _Cold_.

Their bedroom was fairly compact as far as Master Bedrooms went, but their apartment had three rooms. One was reserved for guest, usually visiting agents. And one was an office they shared. Dean taught at least one class each semester at either Georgetown, American or UVA. He had an invitation to teach at Howard and Catholic for next year.

Pulling on the bulky blue sweater that Dean claimed had seen better days he padded out of the room, but never got as far as the office. Dean had covered the floor to ceiling windows of the living room with the pictures of the boys, his laptop was open on the coffee table and he was sitting on the couch hunched over scribbling on something and making circles.

Sam peered over without getting too close. _Calendars?_ He cleared his throat. Usually, Dean knows when he's there. Sam watched the total absorption of his partner at his task.

_Hell, an elephant could probably waltz through the door in a tutu and he wouldn't notice!_ He quickly surveyed the room. The bourbon was on the counter, there was less in it than there was before. He spied the empty glass holding down a sheaf of papers next to the laptop.

"Dean? What the hell, man, it's," he looked at the clock on the oven, "four in the morning!"

"Yeah," Dean kept circling and looking at a chart on the laptop, "Couldn't sleep. I think I've figured it out, Sam."

"What?" Sam plopped down on the chair to the side of the sofa since there were papers on either side of Dean. "What did you figure out?"

"I think I've got the dates." Dean muttered as he made another notation. "The bodies we have the most recent ones, three from 2010, Milner in Omaha, and the other from this year in Chester," he looked over at Sam and after his nod, continued, "then there's the three from 2009, three from 08 and one from 07 and then the one their running more tests on."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "got that. We had that before." He could see Dean vibrating with nervous energy and he tried to keep his voice calm. "What's different?"

Dean smirked, "Well, all the deaths that have been pinpointed so far have set the TOD on a Sunday, right?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "religious nut kills on a Sunday. We've seen that before."

"Yes, we have," Dean agreed, "but those killing always had a set pattern. Once a month, once every seven weeks… these have no pattern."

"But they're not random?" Sam looked over all the papers strewn about, "You wouldn't have been doing this much research for random."

"Nope," Dean grinned slightly, "I wouldn't. This one," his tone was almost admiring, "she's a tricky bitch. Look at this," he cleared the cushions on his left so Sam could move over, "wait," Dean turned to Sam, "d'you know how Easter is calculated?"

Sam shrugged, "No idea, except it's always on a different date, it's frikkin' annoying!"

Dean chuckled, "Yeah, it is. Okay, so, way back when, 325 AD, the First Council of Nicaea is convened by Rome's Emperor, Constantine the First. He brings together Christian bishops from all over making it the very first ecumenical council."

Sam nods, "I thought it was to make up new laws for the church."

"It was," Dean agreed, "But," he smirked, "it was also the first effort to reach a consensus by bringing representatives of known Christendom together. And one of the big questions was Easter." Sam's brows rose in question. "I don't know why, no one really does, but until this meeting Easter followed the Jewish calendar." He looked over at Sam who nodded.

"Because Easter really is Passover, right?"

"Exactly," Dean agreed. "But this council had an issue with the rising of the full moon and didn't want Easter to come before it. So," he pointed to a chart he'd constructed, "they fixed a date of the Spring Equinox for March 21. The date for Easter would fall on the Sunday following the full moon that rose after the Spring Equinox which was known as the Paschal moon."

"Why was Easter such an issue?" Sam asked confused, "I mean other than it's the time that marks the crucifixion."

Dean shook his head, "It's more. For all of Christianity it's the start of the Ecclesiastical year." He grinned at Sam's confusion, "There's much more to the whole moon thing but for our purposes, you just need to understand HOW Easter is calculated. It's the Sunday following the full moon that rises AFTER March 21."

"And it doesn't matter," Sam questioned, "that every calendar lists the Spring or Vernal Equinox as March 19th and 20th?"

"For Christians and with regard to Easter," Dean shook his head, "no, it doesn't matter. But here's the important part." He pulled another page that was loaded with scribbles toward him. "The dates of the killings, they're really bugging me."

"Why these Sundays," Sam asked as he looked at the page with all the days that represented TOD circled in red, "that's what was buggin' you?"

"Yeah," Dean smiled. "Exactly."

"So, what did you find," Sam took the calendar, "this is a mess, but I'm sure it means something to you." He handed it back, "Show me."

Dean let out a deep breath, "First, this is rudimentary at best, because I don't have enough information which tells me there are definitely more boys we've not found. But here goes." He shifted to face Sam, "It's important that you remember the calculation for Easter, because our killer uses that to figure out when to kill her next victim."

Sam looked at him in confusion.

"Look at the dates here," Dean pointed to the calendar of 2010. "The kill dates that we now know are, May 30, August 1, September 26. You with me?"

"Yeah."

"Look here," Dean drew another heavily scrawled page toward him, "these dates from the bodies attributed to 2009 dates," he looked over at Sam and at his partner's nod continued. "The ME reports peg these bodies from June 14, November 8 and January 31, yeah?"

"Got it," Sam nodded as he peered at the page, "but what does it," he shook his head, "okay, I don't got it."

Dean nodded, "Stay with me," he rifled through the spread out pages, "this," he held it up to Sam, "2007."

Sam nodded, "Four of the bodies are linked to that year."

"Yes," Dean smiled in mild triumph, "look," he ran his finger over the page, "the ME's fixed the TOD here, on May 6, and here," he pointed to another date, "August 5," Dean looked over as Sam nodded and continued, "there are two others November 25 and January 27. You see anything, yet?"

Sam let out a huff of dismay, "Just a lot of random dates. Okay, they're all Sundays but that could mean everything and nothing."

Dean nodded as he gnawed as his lip. He looked back at the pages he just showed Sam. He snatched a couple others toward him. He looked from page to page.

Sam looked down at the vast array of papers seemingly strewn about and realized that it wasn't the mess he originally thought it was. He looked over at the page in Dean's hand and saw how meticulously the dates were written. "I'm going to put up coffee." He rose stretching, "I'm guessing sleep is out for both of us." He shook his head with a small smile when Dean didn't answer and padded into the kitchen area. He could still see his partner puzzling through all the pages of dates and TODs.

His brows rose as Dean started to cut apart some of his notes and then stack the cut one on top of the other. He was nearly convinced that Dean's mind was on a bender when he held the stack up to the light.

"Sonovabitch," Dean breathed out the expletive as he looked at the scrawl in his notebook. And then added to it. Sam was sure this was probably about the hundredth time he'd done it in the past hours. But something in the way Dean said the mild curse also said that he'd just seen something he hadn't before.

"What?" Sam leaned toward his partner, "What is it?"

"Okay, watch," Dean keyed up a graph on his laptop, "all these dates mean nothing except that they're a Sunday."

"Right."

"But look backwards," Dean's voice was charged with excitement, "the full moon is on the 27th, the only other day of observance that I think fits the profile is Mary Magdalene Day, on May 25. The Sunday after the full moon is May 30."

Sam shook his head in disbelief.

"Mind you, I can't really be sure. This is one date, and I've got others, but I'd need to see this date reoccur or this target date reoccur." He held up the sheaves of pages to the light and pointed at one of the columns, as he turned to look back at his partner standing behind him, "D'you see?"

"Shit," Sam whispered. He took the pages and held them closer to the light so he could see the other pages behind them more clearly. "But you, we, need more."

**:::: :::::: ::::**

"These are the dates," Dean tacked up his pages of calendars riddled with marked off dates, "and based on the TODs we've gotten from the MEs then these correspond with the Holy Days of Easter, Ascension Day, Autumn Equinox, Samhain also knows as All Souls Day, Saturnalia, Epiphany and Candlemas also known as the Purification of Virgin Mary and the Presentation of Jesus."

He pulled up a blank white board, "Look. Our unsub is using the calculation for Easter, there's enough dates for this one, the Autumn Equinox which comes up three times and each time it's the same pattern, the Sunday after the full moon that follows the date of the Equinox. And again, here," Dean jotted down 'Easter', "each time, the TOD corresponds to the Sunday after the full moon following Easter." He wrote out the other examples.

Dean nodded, "And if I'm right," he spread more pages out on the table, "there are a lot more victims."

The AVU team looked at Dean in stunned silence as he wrapped up his run down on the timeline he'd assigned to the Angel Boy killer, a moniker coined by Garth at the outset of Dean's presentation.

It fit.

"So," Rufus finally broke the dazed silence, "let me understand. This is what you think is the timing, but we need more information to be sure."

"Right." Dean gave him a short nod, "And we need to find out what was different in these areas. The victims that have been identified are from all over the country. That means this person travels. Who is she or he? They could travel for business. But I don't think so."

He turned to Charlie, "Can you put up that piece I gave you, looks like a big box cut into fours?"

"Sure thing." In seconds Charlie had the handwritten diagram that Dean made scanned in and projected for the team.

"Look," Dean pointed to the four boxes, "these are all the states where victims were found."

"You separated them by season? Gabe leaned forward to get a better look, "Oh!"

Dean nodded, "Yeah. Oh!"

"The states with the coldest climates are hit in the summer and those with the warmest in the winter." Gabe looked up to where Dean was standing, "That's an interesting twist. Also means this is a commercial endeavor."

"Exactly," Dean grinned.

"So, we need to figure out what was in these towns," Sam piped up from the far end of the table.

"I'm betting a traveling evangelical group." Benny looked over at Dean who gave him a small shrug.

"Could be a circus," Kevin added, "or some other entertainment group like a national touring company."

"That's true," Benny's partner, Gary, spoke up. The man was very quiet and it was surprising that he joined the discussion. "There are tons of singers and bands that tour all over the country. Magic acts, professional coaches. Sports teams."

"Yeah," Garth added, "and some of them, most, have really big entourages. Roadies to set up, some of those might fall into your "Buddy" profile."

"Good point," Dean nodded as he listened to his team power through the possible organizations that could shelter their unsub.

"And there are plenty of women on those tours, too," Charlie added. Since they'd lost Meg and Jessica to the Colorado office, they were very light on the female voice. Charlie had to carry that burden on her own.

"Yeah, but, Charlie," Sam looked down the table toward her, "would that include the grandmotherly type?"

She shrugged, "Women of the grandmotherly age are agents, managers, lawyers, and," she shrugged slightly again, "we can't assume when you attach the label of grandmotherly that we're talking orthopedics and hair in a bun wearing the housecoat. That is so not women today."

"No, it's not," Dean agreed, "but if our unsub is the grandmotherly type she'd have to the kind of woman that kids would inherently trust. And we still haven't nailed down either profile, 'Pretty Woman' or 'Grandma'. In the meantime," he looked at Charlie and Kevin, "let's get a bead on all the traffic into and out of these areas, see if they have any connections to each other."

The two Tech Analysts left to get started on searching electronically. "Gabe, Garth," Dean turned to them, "can you search any news items that maybe broke in these areas at the time we've put the murders. See if anything strikes you as off?"

"Sure thing," Gabe grabbed his cola, and took off for his office with Garth on his heels.

Benny, Gary, Dean and Sam remained. They were still looking at the timeline that Dean had laid out.

"According to this," Benny broke the silence that had descended, "if it's right, and knowing you, it is. Then there's already a new victim."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, three days ago."

"And they'll be another one ooonn," he studied the chart Dean created, "November twenty-eighth?"

Dean nodded, "You got it."

"Where do we look," Sam asked, as he looked at the locations they knew.

"That's what we need to find out."

**:::: :::::: ::::**

Shining faces raptly watched the tent going up. Eyes grew big with the fascinating sight as yards and yards of fabric formed a structure held aloft by a few poles and ropes.

The air was saturated with the sweet scents of sugary treats that were a constant lure for all children. They were heady. They brought delight.

And that always brought out a smile.

**_September 29, 2010… FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC_**

Charlie kept her eyes on Dean. She could see the tension in his back as he continued to study the screens projected in front of him. Her brows rose and she nodded in greeting as Benny came in. The War Room was quiet and empty but for the occasional soft click of Dean's remote screen changer.

Benny sidled up to Charlie's spot at the back of the room. Three of her computer screens mimicked the ones Dean studied. "How long's he been standing there?" Dean's short cropped hair bore the signs of having been ravaged by a hand running through it in frustration many times. His shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and if you looked closely enough you'd see various colored ink stains still on his fingers.

Charlie shrugged, "Most of the afternoon. Made a couple calls. Looked up some stuff on his own."

Benny looked around the silence-wrapped room. It was a quiet, heavy with frustration and the confusion that comes before most discoveries. In this room, it was Dean's perplexity that hung in the air. He could nearly hear Dean thinking or trying to puzzle out the string of dates in front of him. He glanced up at the screen and saw an array of calendars laid out. "Where's Sam?"

Charlie smirked, "Getting food. You know how Dean is, if someone doesn't feed him, he won't eat until he figures out what's making him nuts."

Benny nodded with well understood knowledge. He'd been with the man for years before they finally split and saved their friendship. He narrowed his eyes as he looked back at the calendars. They were marked with a set of symbols other than the circled dates Dean had shown them earlier. "When did the two new ones come in?"

"About an hour ago," Dean said without turning. "I'm not seeing something, Benny. It's here. I know it is, but I'm not seeing it."

"What is it you don't think you're seeing," Benny joined him in front of the screens as he leaned against the table. "It was damn clever of you to figure out the moon thing and the way our unsub is picking the kill date."

Dean shook his head, "Thanks," his voice trailed off lost in thought. He shook his head at the screens at his own thoughts, "Something's off."

"What," Benny prodded, "talk it out."

His former partner let out a long breath. His eyes skimmed over the calendars. He clicked on the remote button in his hand and another set of markings to the calendars came up along with a US Map.

If… IF… I'm right about these dates," Dean started but his voice trailed off as he continued to immerse himself in the myriad of dates already laid out. "Then," he continued finally, "the unsub is organized, methodical. And patient. Look at the detail of her ritual with the burials, the calling cards that are left."

He looked down as Sam pushed a sandwich into his hand. He absently took a bite as Sam leaned against the table on the other side of him. Dean shot his current partner a grateful glance as the man pushed his rain dampened hair from his face. Charlie had to chuckle to herself as the three men looked at the screen in front of them as if the answer was going to write itself. But she'd seen them do this before.

"Hey," Sam turned toward her, "what about the locations we've got? You find anything that matches yet?"

Charlie nodded, "Couple things."

"And that's the other thing," Dean interrupted them, "these dates, these places, okay they're all over the place. We already knew that, but there's no organization at all." He walked toward the projected calendars, "look at these. They're a mess!"

"But," Sam interrupted as he swallowed a bite of his sandwich, "all these dates coincide with the whole Sunday after the full moon thing. You know the Paschal moon stuff."

Dean nodded, "They do. And I feel good about that, but there's still something off. There are eight dates. That's wrong. Doesn't hold with the rest of the signature." Sam wasn't sure if Dean was talking himself through it or actually expecting a response.

"Okay," Sam took a shot at the fact that he was included in Dean's musings, "what's off then?"

Taking a quick bite of his sandwich Dean grabbed some of his written notes. "Eight," he said more to himself than in answer to Sam. "It shouldn't be eight. Three maybe. Or Seven. It's just…" he let out a sigh, "it's doesn't hold up with all her other signatures. It's, I don't know, sloppy." He looked from his notes to the screen, "And there are too many, it's just off."

**:::: :::::: ::::**

**:::: :::::: ::::**

Comments are a writers currency! Please, let me know what you thought!

**:::: :::::: ::::**


	5. Chapter 5

**:::: :::::: ::::**

**Chapter Five**

**:::: :::::: ::::**

**_September 29, 2010… FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC_**

Dean sat on the edge of the table as he scribbled in his ever-present notebook. The old-fashioned paper kind. The spiral bound, college ruled kind. He left the electronics to Charlie and Kevin. And Sam. He liked paper. Paper he could hold onto and cut up and move around.

He peered over his glasses hearing more activity around him. He took another bite of his second sandwich because Sam was Mother-Henning him. After swallowing he pivoted around to Charlie, "Those other dates I gave you?"

Charlie nodded, "I'm working on them. It's going to take a bit of time, but I'm doing a search for all unsolved cases fitting the timelines."

"You sure about this, Dean," Rufus followed Garth into the room, "you don't want to expand the search to other dates?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and rocked his head back over tired, tense shoulders. He could hear the grinding of tense muscles luckily no one else could. "We can, but we need to keep track of which victims fit our current profile. Plus," he looked back at Charlie, "we're going to be hit with every victim that fits the timeframe not just the ones that fit our profile."

Rufus nodded, "True, but you know, we shouldn't…"

"Leave any stone unturned," the team finished for him.

He cracked probably the first smile that room had seen that day. Or in the few days preceding it.

"So far all of the victims we're attributing to this unsub," Charlie spoke from behind her console of computers, "have been found in a cemetery or on church grounds." Rufus looked up for the first time at the calendars displayed on the screen. "That'll make it easier for us to cull out other victims found elsewhere." He pointed to the screen, "What's this?"

"The other dates, the other possible kill dates," Dean answered.

Rufus swept the toothpick that was present whenever he was working a case from one side of his mouth to the other. The tiny stick had replaced cigarettes for him years ago. The War Room boasted a steady supply of them in strategic places. It did the same with chocolate for Garth and Dean as well as Gummi Bears and Worms for Sam, Gabe and Charlie. Kevin was the non-snacker in the bunch and got ribbed for it mercilessly.

"Charlie," Rufus turned back to the Tech, "where are we with that?"

"I've got matches coming up," Charlie clicked away at the keyboard and pushed a screen toward Kevin who jumped in on the other side.

He shook his head and typed in another string of code and grimaced at what was coming up on his screen. He moved Dean's display to alternate screens on the side of the room and put up what he and Charlie were getting on the new search parameters.

"Guys!" Kevin and Charlie called out together, "You're not going to like this." A string of possible victim's names matching the dates that Dean gave came up. They also matched some of the dates and locations of the victims they'd already uncovered.

Garth and Benny's partner, Gary, let out low whistles as the list populated. Dean slid from his perch on the table and dropped into his chair as he scribbled notes in his book.

"That's not all," Kevin added as he activated another screen, "based on the victim sites we know, take a look at who was there that matches our TOD dates."

"That's an impressive list," Sam's voice held a note of dismayed awe as he took a chair next to Dean. "It's going to take forever to get through these."

"Who are The Poison Darts," Benny asked as he looked over the list.

"Indie rock band," Gabriel said from the doorway. "Hey, sorry I'm late. Was talking to the papers." At Rufus' silent inquiry, he nodded, "They're being good." He looked at the screen, "Poison Darts, goth rock band out of some Godforsaken place in South Dakota. The other group up there, Galactic Genesis, Christian rock band out of, surprise, surprise, Alabama."

Dean smirked, "How in the hell do you know this?"

Gabe shrugged with a good-natured smile as he slid into a chair, "The same way you, my friend, know such esoteric info on religion. Bands are a thing and the names just stick with me."

"So, Galactic Genesis?"

"They're not that bad," Gabe frowned slightly as he looked back up at the screen, "but definitely not our unsub." He glanced over at Dean, "First, they're kids. Second, they travel small, and third," he pointed to one of the side screens, "catch me up, that list," he nodded to the one behind Dean, "are some of the locations?"

"Yeah." Dean looked back at his colleague, "What about the third thing."

"Oh, right," Gabe put down his coffee, "they'd never play somewhere like Minnesota. Mostly they stay local, they're still really new on the scene. So, they only match part of your timeline."

"But they did," Kevin piped up from behind his computer. "May 14 to 17 in 2007."

Gabe shook his head with a frown, "Dig deeper. That's graduation time, I'll bet one of them's an alum or has family or something. I don't like them for this."

"Based on what," Charlie asked.

"My gut," Gabe answered.

"I think the circus," Benny swiveled toward the screen, "is a better bet."

"I agree," Sam said as he swallowed a fresh sip of his leftover drink from lunch, "the rock band is also too small. They'd all have to be in on it. Chances are they're their own roadies so that means they're traveling light. But this circus, Bright Thorn Big Top, great place for kids, lots of people. Kid could go missing easily."

"Just as easily as from the Crown of Heaven Evangelical Ministries," Dean added as he scribbled in his notes. "Charlie, Kev, can you narrow down the distance parameter." He looked back at the two techs, "Make it five miles."

In a few clicks, the two bands fell off the list, as did the three larger and more well-known rock bands. Still on the list were the traveling ministry and the larger circus.

"Can that be a coincidence?" Sam's query went out to the table at large, but he'd just asked the question on everyone's mind.

Rufus nodded, "It could. One could be following the other or steering them. I mean, why not, the circus comes to town, a big draw for everyone. Who doesn't want to go to the circus?" He switched his toothpick around for a second, "The ministry follows, capitalizing on the hype the circus has already generated."

The team nodded as their chief put forward his observations.

"Plus, gives our unsub more cover, right?"

"Okay, so then," Sam chimes in, "we're looking at the ministry which fits our profile."

"The circus fits it, too," Dean added as he looked up from his notes.

"Yeah, but, Dean, c'mon," Sam cajoled, "the circus? Elephant riders, clowns, trapeze guys, lion tamers. These guys aren't killers. And not really known as religious zealots!"

"Really?" Dean looked at his partner with his you're-kidding-me-brows. "Most circuses' core performers are gypsies and I'm not talking the traveling kind, although that fits too. I'm talking about Romani Gypsies, very religious, very Catholic, and very superstitious."

"Well, shit," Garth let out the small expletive. "That changes the way I'm gonna look at circuses for, well, forever."

Dean gave their youngest member a wry smile, "I know, huh?" He looked around the table, "I'm not saying either or, but we'll have to look closely at both." He looked back at the dates he'd amassed and turned to Rufus, "We have to be careful in tracking the movements of both the ministry and the circus. It's possible there's a connection other than the one using the other as tack and drag."

Rufus nodded as he examined the data they had so far. "There's nothing more we can do tonight. It's late and I know we all want to keep going, but we also need to rest. Come at this fresh in the morning."

**:::: :::::: ::::**

Sam glanced over at his partner and shook his head a bit as he realized that he'd been, virtually, talking to himself. He doubted if Dean had heard anything he said. He didn't even flinch when one of the waiters or someone dropped a considerable number of dishes with a jarring crash on the thick tile floor of the Italian bistro they both liked.

He gently kicked his partner under the table. He kicked him again with a little more force.

"Hmm," Dean's eyes focused on Sam. They lost the hazy glaze that had clouded his usually clear green eyes. He pulled himself up straighter in the chair, "So, the Patriot's game?"

Sam chuckled and smiled, "Yeah, well, I had that conversation with myself more than fifteen minutes ago. I was just kind of waiting to see if you'd join me anytime soon."

Sam's smile grew as his partner's face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sam. This case," Dean let out a sigh, "I just," he shuddered and dropped his fork that had yet to eat anything substantial of the Gnocci al Forno that was one of his favorite dishes.

"It's hard to leave it, even for a little bit," Sam nodded, "I get that. It is for me, too. But," he took a sip of his beer, "you gotta admit that fresh eyes, a fresh head, you could do more. You need to get some sleep, man."

Dean nodded as he threw a bit into his mouth, "I know. I will."

"And eat."

Dean forked another helping into his mouth, "Happy, Mom?"

"Very."

**:::: :::::: ::::**

Sam could feel the tension radiating off his partner as they both tried to sleep. They were both strung tight over this case, but Sam hadn't seen Dean this tense since the first case they'd worked together. Then he put it down to being with a new partner.

But this case was really tying the man in knots. He played possum and didn't let Dean know that he was keeping him awake. Usually he could sleep through anything. It was a standing joke with the two of them that a tornado could sweep across Sam and he'd not flicker an eyelid.

Finally, Sam felt the weighted compression of the mattress and knew Dean had finally succumbed to the sleep he needed. Letting out a relieved sigh he turned and wrapped himself around his partner. He felt Dean's body relax a bit more as he fell deeper into slumber. For the first time in days, Dean's muscles were lax in his arms. Pulling the comforter more closely around them, Sam finally allowed himself to follow.

"Oh, sonovabitch!" Dean jack-knifed awake, breaking free of Sam's arms and only realizing when he heard his partner groan. "Sam! Sorry!" He swung his legs from the bed.

"What the hell, man," Sam's sleepy moan held all the derision it could given the hour and rude awakening.

"I've been an idiot!" Dean pushed off the bed and padded to the bathroom.

Sam sat up, albeit reluctantly, hearing the shower run. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looked at the clock expecting to see that only a few minutes had passes since they both fell asleep. He was more than surprised to see the clock announcing that it was already ten after six. He padded into the bathroom and after taking care of his morning business, leaned against the double sink counter, "You mean about the Angel Boy Killer," he grimaced as he used Garth's name for their unsub.

"Yeah," Dean called from the shower. Sam saw he was almost finished as his partner tipped his head back to get the shampoo out of his hair. Dean took some of the shortest showers. Sam liked to linger but he knew that would not be an option today.

A minute later Dean stepped out toweling off as Sam stripped off and stepped under the still streaming spray. "So, how were you an idiot?"

"It'll be better, clearer, if I show you, but I've been looking at the timeline wrong," he picked up his Braun shaver and ran it over his groomed stubble leaving just enough to be shy of a beard but mitigate his sometimes too boyish face. As he finished brushing his teeth, Sam was out of the shower and taking up his spot at the second sink.

"How, wrong," Sam asked lathering up for a razor shave.

"I've got the year wrong," Dean answered as he finished his morning routine, "remember yesterday the dates were bugging me? I said the calendar was off, messy?"

"Mmhmm," Sam rinsed his razor and continued shaving as he listened.

"I can't believe I was this dense," Dean stepped into his boxers and then sat on the toilet to pull on his socks. "I was looking at the Gregorian year, you know the regular year, January to December." He reached into the built in drawers where they kept underclothes and pulled out a fresh tee-shirt, "she's, he's, using the Ecclesiastical calendar. At least, I think so. Looks right in my head, have to see it on paper."

Sam wiped his face down with a wash cloth and slapped on some aftershave as he looked at Dean in wonder. "You know, you might be right, since the unsub's using the Easter calculation as a base. At least, as far as you've thought it out. And the dates seem to fit the profile we've got, as meager as it is."

Dean nodded as he passed through into the walk-in closet, "I need to see it. There are a couple things that just don't jive for me."

**:::: :::::: ::::**

Charlie was her usual fresh-as-a-daisy self as she powered up her system as Dean and Sam came through into the War Room. Kevin slogged in behind them looking barely dressed.

"Dude," Kev groused as he took his place in front of his computers, "do you not know about the eight hours a growing boy needs?"

"If you're a boy, then I'm Methuselah," Dean shot back as he opened up his laptop and notebook. "Charlie those calendars from yesterday…"

"Commmiiing up, now."

The screens that had been resting silently and restfully blank came to life with an explosion of monthly and yearly calendars.

Dean studied them again for the umpteenth time. "And there it is!" He pointed to the March calendar. "Look!" He pointed to the same month in successive years, "It's always empty. She's, ah, fuck! The unsub…"

"Oh, hell, Winchester," Kevin grumped, "just call her, it, what the fuck ever, the Angel Boy Killer. Genderless and accurate. Simple."

Dean snorted at Kevin's crankiness, "Okay, well, our Angel Boy Killer is using the Ecclesiastical calendar NOT the Gregorian!" He heard Charlie lightly gasp in surprise. "If you look at the calendar from Lent to Lent or Easter to Easter, the dates start to make better sense." He glanced over at Charlie, "Can you do that? Arrange them from Lent to Lent?"

"On it!" Dean watched as Charlie and Kevin ripped apart the calendars electronically.

"Winchester," Rufus growled as he ambled in, "please tell me there's a reason I'm here at this un-Godly hour!"

"There is." Dean didn't stop in his explanation as the rest of the team straggled in, "remember yesterday I said the calendar was off."

Heads nodded. Dean explained why. "And look, here, see," he pointed to March, "there's no activity."

"There isn't any in July either," Garth pointed out after noisily sipping from his coffee cup.

"No," Dean agreed, "I don't think that's the anomaly it appears to be. Not sure what it is yet, But, this," he pointed to Easter, "is the start of her year as it is for all Christian churches." The excitement in his voice was one of triumph and wonder that he'd found what he was missing.

"Wait," Rufus' voice boomed from the table behind Dean, "Christians use the same calendar as everyone else."

"No," Dean turned to his chief, "well, yes, Christian people do, but the churches don't. Easter is the start of the Ecclesiastical year, and so, our unsub is, basically, using it as the first day of the year."

Rufus nodded as he looked over Dean's calendars.

"Hey, Kev," Dean called over his shoulder, "can you mark off all the Ash Wednesdays?"

"No problem." In a few clicks the five calendars, from 2006 through 2010 were marked with an 'X' over the date Dean requested.

"See." Dean pointed to the gap between Ash Wednesday and Lent, "there's no activity at all in any year during Lent."

"I guess that's what our unsub gives up," Gabe chided."

"Oh, seriously," Charlie groaned. "Poor taste, bub!"

"A little levity can be a good thing," Gabe retorted as he examined the calendars and the time gap. "So," he turned his attention to Dean, "what does this mean for us? Does this make more sense to you based on what was bugging you yesterday?"

Dean stepped back and leaned against the table. He scrutinized the display again. Suddenly, the team heard a low chuckle coming from their Supervising Agent.

"Dean?" Benny interrupted his former partners private comedy interlude.

"She's clever. And fuck, she's meticulous!" Dean chuckled dryly again as he looked from calendar to calendar.

"What?" Rufus interrupted this time, "Care to share with the class, Winchester?"

"It's making more and more sense," Dean explained as he perched on the table, "the dates were off to me yesterday. I knew the ones I had were correct, I'd checked and re-checked. But there were too many and then not enough."

"You said last night that eight was too many," Sam reminded, "that it should have been three or seven. You were really stuck on the seven, right?"

Dean nodded, "Exactly." He looked around at his team, "Benny, you're a Catholic. You'd know this. Why three or seven?"

Benny shrugged with a small smile, "Three, it's a good Holy Number for the Trinity. Seven is a Biblical number."

"Okay, hang on, Dean," Garth chimed in, "educate the Baptist here. What's with the seven? I get the three, Father, Son, Holy Spirt."

Benny swept his arm toward Dean, "The floor, cher, is yours."

Dean rocked his head from side-to-side on tense shoulders, "Okay, a bit of trivia. You know why seven is a lucky number?" Head shook and shoulders shrugged.

"Oh, wait!" Charlie giggled, "The seven virtues."

Dean grinned, "Give the little lady a cigar!" The team chuckled and it WAS good to have a bit of levity when they'd all been working so hard on figuring out their newest unsub's motives and moves, visiting morgues and interviewing victim's families. "But," Dean continued, "there's more so much more. Let's start with the seven days of creation. The seventh day being held separate for the Sabbath. And here is where seven starts to be the number of completion and of divine perfection. The number seven is all over the bible. For easy stuff there are the Seven Holy Gifts, Seven Venal Sins also known as the seven Deadly Sins."

Nods of understanding surrounded him. "There's so much more," Dean continued pacing in front of the screen, "Exodus, animals must be seven days old before sacrificing. Second Kings, Naaman, the leper, is cleansed after bathing seven times in the River Jordan. Joshua is commanded to march around Jericho seven days and to make seven circuits on the seventh day while seven priests blow seven trumpets," he looked at his team, "I'm sure we all know what happened there."

He pushed his hands into his pockets but then withdrew them to use his fingers to tick off more examples, "In Genesis, seven pairs of each clean animal are on the ark. Exodus, there are seven stems on the tabernacle's lampstand. Also in Exodus, Egypt is plagued for seven years counter-balanced with seven years of plenty. Isaiah, seven qualities of the Messiah, seven signs in John's gospel, and seven things the Lord hates in Proverbs, seven parables and seven woes in Matthew also seven loaves of bread into fish," Dean paused to chuckle, "there's a discrepancy with that one, earlier in the text its five loaves and 2 fish, still a seven though."

"And then," he continued, "in John, Jesus is the seven-fold 'I am'. Seven in multiples is just as important. It's in Daniel, 490 years, 7 times 7 times 10. Jeremiah, Babylonian captivity would last seventy years, Leviticus, the Year of Jubilee begins after the passing of each 49th year. Again, in Matthew, Jesus tells Peter to forgive seventy times seven. In Revelations it's very prevalent, and I'll bet our unsub knows this chapter backwards and forwards, seven spirits before God's throne, seven gold lampstands, seven stars in Christ's right hand, seven seals of God's Judgment, seven angels with seven trumpets…"

"Shit!" Garth and Gabe exploded interrupting Dean, "they do not teach this in Sunday school!"

"They do in some," Dean muttered and brows rose in unasked question. "Suffice it to say, the number seven appears in the Bible more than seven hundred times."

"So, then," Sam enters the fray feeling a bit shell shocked at hearing Dean's whispered confession and the sheer amount of information he'd just rattled off, "it's safe to say, that our Angel Boy Killer is big on the number seven."

"Yeah," Dean shot him a grateful smile, "I think so."

Sam sucked in a deep breath and looked up at the calendars soon to become seared into his memory for all time. "What about this," he walked toward the screen, "what's going on here? Why the shift from this February date, Candlemas, to this one in January."

"Oh, hell, that's easy," Rufus piped up, "those years, there," he pointed out 2006, 2007, and 2009, honoring Candlemas falls during Lent and our unsub's not deviating from the plan that's already been mapped out." He turned toward his Supervisory Agent, "That right?"

Dean nodded, "On the nose, sir. On. The. Nose."

"She plans," Sam sighed, "and plans well."

"And long term," Gabe added.

"Yeah," Dean finally sank back into his seat and scrubbed his hands over his face.

"She's going to hit again," Rufus mused looking at the screen, "on November 28 and December 26."

Dean looked at his chief glumly and gave him a slow nod.

"Now we just need to know where," Benny added as he took a folded message from his partner who'd been trouble-shooting on one of their cases at home.

**:::: :::::: ::::**

Sam looked up from putting the remainder of their dinner in the storage containers. He kept an eye on his partner from the distance of the kitchen. Dean had been even quieter at dinner than he'd been in the last few days. Their silence broken by halting bits of conversation on nothing important.

He flinched as Dean poured another bourbon, neat, and took a healthy swig. This was his second, at least as far as Sam knew. Two beers with dinner followed by Woodford for dessert was not a good way to end the night. Wiping his hands off with a dish towel he was relieved when Dean finally quit staring out the window and plopped onto the sofa except that he'd downed his glass and had already poured a third.

Sam could see the tension in his partner. Hell, he could feel it. He could see Dean reviewing the material he and the team had amassed on their latest unsub. Padding over to the sofa, he took the glass from Dean's hand, and downed it himself. Climbing up on the sofa, he sat on the back and threw his leg over Dean.

"Jeeze, Sam, what the hell…"

"Shh," Sam settled himself, his legs on either side and started to massage his partner's shoulders. "Man, you are so tense."

"And you're not?" Dean leaned into Sam's strong hands. "God, that feels good."

"I am tense, but," Sam worked on the knots riddling his lover's shoulders and neck, "you need to talk to me, man. I've seen you tense. I've seen you involved in other cases, some more than others. But this one? This is tying you up," he pushed Dean a bit away from him to get better leverage on Dean's delts, "talk to me."

Dean let out a sigh, equal parts frustration and relaxation as Sam's hands worked their magic on his bunched muscles. "We've got two months, Sam. Fifty-nine days to find this sonuvabitch. And you know we're not going to get this bitch until more kids have died." Sam could hear the defeat and exhaustion in his partner's voice. "And that just kills me, Sam. That this bitch, is going to ruin more lives, end another child's life. And we can't do a damn thing about it."

He felt Dean tense under his hands again. "And it just makes me nuts what people will do in the name of God. You drag your kids to church to teach them that God is good, be a good person, do unto others and all that bullshit." Sam quietly kept kneading his partners tensing muscles. "And it's all bullshit in the end, 'cause that praying thing never worked for me, but this bitch… this bitch is preying on these boys luring them into being an Angel in God's army, I'll bet money on that one." Dean snorted and tried to reach for the bourbon.

Sam pulled him back. "These people," Dean's voice was gruff and strained, "they promise these kids all kinds of shit if they'll be good, good soldiers for God. What a fuckin' joke! And they get it from everyone, their parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles have told them all about being obedient and kind, trusting in the Lord, fuckin' crock of shit!"

Sam leaned down and wrapped his arms around his partners trembling shoulders, "Dean, man. I've never heard you like this." He laced his fingers with Dean's and rested his chin on his lover's shoulder. It was the first time he'd realized that Dean's expertise in religious iconography was more than just academic knowledge.

"In the War Room," Sam's voice was soothing and quiet, "when you muttered, 'some of them do', you were talking about your Christian education, hmm?"

Dean leaned into his partner, "You have no idea."

"Mmmm," Sam nodded against Dean's shoulder, "I don't. But, maybe after that little tirade and today's efficient quoting of Bible passages, your aversion to organized religion, I'm going to take a stab that you were raised in the church?"

Dean let out a dry huff, "The evangelical, traveling, Bible thumping, be good or God won't love you, church, yeah."

"Mmm," Sam hummed as he squeezed his partner's hands in his, "that's too bad. Shouldn't be that way. Should have been comforting not threatening…"

"Well, it wasn't," Dean let out a long breath, "and at the end of the day, it's not that way for these boys." Dean let his head hang back against Sam. "And it just kills me, Sam, that this Holy Rolling bitch is going to get more innocent boys. It just fuckin' kills me. Worse, I need for her to kill again just to be sure that we're after the right person. And I, we, can't do a thing to stop it."

"No, we can't," Sam kept up his ministrations, "and it kills me, too. Here's the thing, though, we may lose more boys, but we'll save more in the end. We'll get her. Him. Whoever." He leaned down to look at his partner as he massaged his neck, "Dean, your success rate is some of the best in law enforcement, you won't fail."

"I can't Sam," Dean leaned into his partner, "I can't. No more Sammy's, Sam. I can't have any more Sammy's."

_Shit, his brother? Fuck! I should've known!_ Sam kept his voice as even as possible, "What's this got to do with Sammy?"

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Comments are a writers currency! Please, let me know what you thought!

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**Copyright Disclaimers:** That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character and I cite Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. The ownership and copyrights of Blind Pig, Woodford Reserve, Crown Royal, DoubleTree Hotels, Holiday Inn hotels, Braun and Chevrolet are duly acknowledged in the Product Acknowledgement section of this work. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal31.


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